Heart of Darkness
by Gairi
Summary: As Skyrim tumbles into chaos, one of two living Dragonborn tries to ignore her destiny by starting a new one - as a murderer. Cold and apathetic, Camille Rayne works her way through the Dark Brotherhood while dodging civil war, dragons, and her own past. She can't run forever, and soon, something's going to stop her dead in her tracks.
1. Chapter 1: The Illusion of Innocence

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Elder Scrolls series, and I am making no profit from this work. All of the characters, plot details, locations, and canon dialogue belong to Bethesda, not me. The Dragonborn belongs to Bethesda as well, but the characters of Camille Rayne and Sidri "Kiss" Nighthollow (brief mentions only) are mine.

* * *

"Those Imperials just keep throwing themselves at Stormcloak blades." Gripes a young woman in the tavern in which I currently sit. "They would be better off just surrendering."

"Mm." I reply, wishing she would go away.

"What do you think about it?" The woman persists.

_Of course, she had to ask my opinion_. "I've heard of a similar situation in Hammerfell." I respond quickly. "The Aldmeri Dominion seems to be losing friends rather quickly."

"Well, I know I'm no friend of theirs." The barmaid says. "I should get back to work. I'll be back with your drink soon."

I give her a polite smile, but subtly roll my eyes when she leaves. "The same drink she said she'd get me an hour ago." I mutter down at the table. A few moments later, she does actually return, and she brings with her a glass of sweet red wine. I thank her and finally sink into a happy realm of relaxation. That is, until someone else speaks to me.

_I swear, if one more racist Nord says something about my height… _

"Hey dere." Says a large man as he hovers over my table. He mispronounces every _th._

I forge an affable smile, masking my urge to impale him with my dinner fork. "Evening."

"What's someone like you doing in a place like dis?" The man asks, his meager attempts at flirtation failing miserably.

"I believe this is a public tavern." I snip.

He sits down without asking me for an invitation. "Sure it is. But you're too pretty for here."

How charmingly eloquent. "Well, I've heard the only other place to get a decent meal in town is in the Gray Quarter." I remark. I almost add, _"Where would you have me go?"_ but I stop myself quickly due to the probability of his answer being crude.

"You could come back to my place." He suggests eagerly. "It's just a little hole in the wall, but I could make you some dinner. And I have plenty of mead."

"I can tell that you are a _very_ nice person," I state, layering my words with sweetness and smiles, "but I've already had my supper, and I have an unfortunate dislike for Nordic mead."

The man seems very taken aback. "Well, den fine!" He shouts, standing up angrily. "Dere are plenty of odder women who'll appreciate me!"

"I'm sure." I smirk as he storms away. I sigh lightly, hoping nobody else bothers me as I finish my wine and exit the inn.

I pull my velvet traveling cloak around me tightly as the bitter wind pulls at my hair. I've been in Skyrim for a while now, after leaving High Rock due to a misunderstanding with a few politicians. I don't think I'll be staying in Windhelm for any length of time, though. When I came here, I wanted an easier life, one spent roaming the gorgeous landscapes and climbing the mountains. I'm not going back to Cyrodiil. I didn't want to go there in the first place, and I ran the first chance I got, never looking back.

Unfortunately for me, life in Skyrim has been anything but a vacation. I was wrongfully arrested and forced into all this business with dragons. Apparently, I'm not only _the_ Dragonborn of Nordic legend; I'm one of _two_ Dragonborn of Nordic legend. The other is a Bosmer called Sidri - an odd woman who doesn't seem to like me very much. She and I are to meet in some old ruin to find the horn of Jurgen Windcaller in about a week. I've been trying to relax until then. I came here to Windhelm and she went to Riften, I believe.

As I walk about the streets, I overhear a little boy speaking to a woman. I catch the words "Black Sacrament" and immediately drop into a crouch. Hurrying behind a low wall, I listen to the rest of the conversation.

"…trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood?" Asks the little boy eagerly.

"Oh, Grimvar…" The woman sighs. I can almost hear her shaking her head. "Always with the nonsense. No, no. Of course not. Those are just tales…"

"Fine. Then I'll invite him out to play." The little boy retorts. I peek around the corner just in time to see him point at a nearby house. "He lives right there. I'm going to knock on his door."

The woman hurriedly places her hands in front of the boy. "No, child! Wait! That boy, that house… they're cursed!"

"Ha! Then I'm right. I knew it! He's trying to have somebody killed." The child says triumphantly.

"Alright. I won't deny it, child." The woman admits. "What you heard is true. But Aventus Aretino walks a dark path. His actions can lead only to ruin. Now enough. We will speak no more of this. I am the only friend you need." The little boy hangs his head and walks away with the woman. I look around, then back at the house. It's a sizable place. This Aventus Aretino is, I assume, another child. I wonder what he could want the Dark Brotherhood for… and why no one else is in the house with him.

My curiosity overpowers me. I creep over to the house and deftly pick the lock on the door. It creaks open, completely spoiling the advantage of surprise. Sighing in annoyance, I stand up from my crouch and walk tentatively up the stairs. I can make out faint chanting, words I am all too familiar with.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

I whisper the words in my head. I've said them so many times that I have them memorized. No doubt the child has his effigy of bones and flesh laid out before him, a dagger coated with nightshade in his hands. The assassins have probably already heard his plea; they must be coming. And what will they find in the house? A young child, misguided and foolish? A mysterious Breton, stealing their contract?

The chanting stops. The boy must have heard me. Footsteps patter out into the room and a child, not yet into his teenage years, greets me. "Finally!" He cries excitedly. "My prayers have been answered!"

"Are you… all right?" I inquire hesitantly, taking in the sight of the candlelit bones and blood in the room behind him.

"It worked! I knew you'd come, I just knew it!" Aventus cheers, ignoring my question. "I did the Black Sacrament, over and over, with the body and the… the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!"

I close my eyes, recalling a bitter memory I haven't thought about in a very long time.

"You don't have to say anything." Aventus assures me. "There's no need. I know who you are. And now that you're here, you can accept my contract!"

"Contract?" I repeat. _The boy actually thinks I'm going to kill someone for him, _I think to myself in amazement. _Not like I won't…_

"My mother… sh-she died." Aventus says sorrowfully. "I'm all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall." His sad frown morphs into a sneer. "The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she's not kind! She's terrible. To all of us!" He pauses, letting his anger cool a bit. "So I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. And now you're here, and you can kill Grelod the Kind!"

"You are certain this is what you want, child?" I ask quietly.

"Yes!" He nods vigorously. "But please hurry. As much as I hated it in Honorhall, I really miss my friends there."

I look away from his eager eyes and around the house. The candles encircling the effigy of Grelod the Kind are burning out, one by one, drips of wax pooling around them. They will be difficult to pry off of the floor, I think. The main room is a mess, with miscellaneous items strewn about the floor and old foodstuffs rotting away. It already has begun to smell.

I take my leave of the house and decide to take a carriage to Riften. The boy shouldn't be living in that empty house, but neither should he be returned to a woman who will abuse him so terribly. I will be glad to get out of this chilly weather, certainly.

I hire the cart to take me to Riften and sit back into the bench. It will be a long ride, but better than walking in a snowstorm like this. The cabman doesn't talk much, leaving me alone to remember the last time I dealt with the Dark Brotherhood. It was the 28th of Rain's Hand, Fourth Era 187. I still remember that day, the day the assassin came to me.

_I look down at the bruises on my skin. They are fading now. It's been over a week since the Speaker came to me. He told me Atticus would soon be dead, but he is the Arena Grand Champion. I fear he has killed the assassin, and is coming for me. It has been far too long. _

_I light the candles in the circle, and pray to the Night Mother that my husband is dead. It wasn't in the book, to pray after one has been contacted. But I do it anyway. All I want is for him to die. Then I can be free. _

_I hear footsteps outside. "Atticus?" I breathe as the lock on the door clicks open. _

_A figure steps through, clad all in black. "Lady Reverentus." A male voice says, his words pinpricks of sound in the room. _

_I gasp, unknowing what to say. "Come now." The figure steps into the candlelight. "I am in the right house, aren't I?" He fits his role perfectly. He is young, with eyes the color of warm gold, hair of soft auburn, and an amused smirk on his face. Handsome, in a dark, unsettling, yet strangely exciting kind of way. _

_"I-I think so." I stammer. "Y-you're from the… the Dark Brotherhood?" _

_"You were expecting the Thieves Guild?" He quips with a breathless chuckle, coming ever closer to me. He's much taller than I am. An Imperial, no doubt. "You are the one I was sent to find. I was expecting…" He trails off. _

_"S-someone taller?" I ask hesitantly. I am unsure if I should play along with him. He laughs, a chilling sound in the darkness as my candles slowly begin to flicker out. "Hardly. I thought you'd be older. Weaker. The typical battered housewife." _

_I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. _

_"But you're not." The assassin continues. "You're still young and beautiful." He gives me a sickly sweet smile. It makes me shiver, but I think I like it. Why does this darkness excite me? _

_"Atticus is dead." I whisper, more for my own understanding. _

_"He's fought his last match." The assassin replies. _

_My breath becomes unsteady. I look away from him and down at my melting candles. _

_"The Speaker told me I should give you the news myself." The assassin continues, stepping closer to me. "He sent me to take care of you." _

_"Wh-what?" My eyes dart back up to the man. In the Dark Brotherhood, "taking care of" usually means "silencing permanently". _

_"I'm to help you escape from the city." The assassin responds casually. "It will cost you more, however." _

_"I didn't ask for—" I begin to protest. _

_"Shh." He presses two fingers to my lips. His gloves smell of blood and steel. It is a… curiously enticing thing. "You shouldn't argue with the man who just killed your husband." He smirks. _

_"I can pay." I announce, my voice not rising above a whisper. _

_"Of course you can." He says, laughing again. "You have an Arena Champion's fortune to do with as you please." _

_The few lit candles are snuffed out and the assassin leads me out. I gather a few things and give the assassin the stash of gold that I've squirreled away. The last thing I grab is the book. A Kiss, Sweet Mother. I want to keep it in case I need it again… and as a reminder. _

_Once we're outside, I shiver. The night seems even colder than usual. The assassin looks at me for a moment before wrapping his cloak around my shoulders. "Consider it a gift." He remarks. _

_He leads me out to the stables where a horse is waiting, and instructs me to stay away from the city for a while. __"Go somewhere nice," he says, "go back to High Rock." He smirks and pulls his mask up over his face before disappearing into the night. I follow his silhouette as long as I can, but when I blink, he is lost._

_But now Atticus is dead, and I am free. Maybe I will go to High Rock…_

A light breeze sweeps my face and I open my eyes. I swear I can hear a voice on the wind, but I can't quite make out the words…

* * *

"All right, here we are. Riften." The coachman informs me.

I hop down from the carriage and pay the man a few Septims. "Be careful." He wishes me.

I nod and walk over to the city gate.

"Hold there!" The guard holds up his hand. "Before I let you into Riften, you'll have to pay the visitor's tax."

"What is it for?" I inquire skeptically.

"For… the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?" The guard barks.

"This is obviously a shakedown." I state.

The guard sighs and looks around. "Damn it." He grumbles. "They need to post someone else out here next time…" He walks over to the gate and pushes it open, glaring at me as I walk through.

Then I finally get a glimpse of Riften. It's similar to Whiterun, but I see more market stands and plenty of people bustling about. I can hear two people arguing about the Thieves' Guild, but I pay no attention.

Someone stops me before I get very far. "I don't know you." Says a man with a deep, throaty voice.

"I don't recall addressing you." I retort before I can catch my own tongue.

"You in Riften lookin' for trouble?" The man demands.

"I just thought I would take a look at the scenery." I quip sarcastically.

"Oh yeah?" The man raises his head. He seems to have no sense of humor at all. "Well I've got news for ya: ain't nothin' to see. Last thing the Black-Briars' need is some stranger stickin' their nose where it don't belong."

I turn away from the man and start off toward the market square. I'm only here to kill some old shrew, not involve myself in more politics.

"You can pretend not to hear me all you want," the man calls after me, "but you'd better stay out of the Black-Briars' business."

I ignore him, instead walking into the market square. Lots of people are there, selling their wares. Armorers, jewelers, and a man claiming to sell miracle cures. He keeps looking at me, and he has an arrogant air about him. He's obviously lying about his "Falmer Blood Elixir", but some still pay attention to it. I avert my gaze and walk through town until I see a building with lettering above the door that reads "Honorhall Orphanage".

This is the place. I step inside and look around. There are a few children standing in a line with their heads bowed. An old woman is yelling at them ruthlessly, and I know immediately why Aventus wants her dead.

"Anyone who shirks their duties will get an extra beating! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Grelod." The children murmur in a depressed chorus.

"And I will hear no more talk of adoptions!" The old woman shrieked. "No one wants you! Nobody needs you! That is why you are here. Why you will always be here, until the day you come of age and get thrown out into that wide, miserable world. Now what do you say?"

"We love you, Grelod. Thank you for your kindness." The children drone.

My veins pulse under my skin. I wrap my fingers around the hilt of my dagger and walk toward her. I think this is one murder I can commit with witnesses present. "Hello, Grelod." I say icily. "You know, I don't like people who make victims of the helpless." She opens her mouth to protest, but as I sink my blade into her stomach and twist it, all that emerges is blood. It spills down her dress, and I can feel a sick warmth in the pit of my stomach.

So fulfilling… I remember why I like this.

To my amazement, the children cheer. One of them runs to me and wraps his arms around my legs. "Aventus did it!" They all cry happily. The one hugging me says, "We love you, Dark Brotherhood!" and lets go, jumping for joy with the rest of his friends.

"Kill one person, and you can solve so many problems." One girl muses lowly after glancing at me.

I smile to myself and quietly leave the orphanage. I draw my hood up over my face and quickly exit the town.

After deciding to walk instead of taking another carriage, I am on my way back to Windhelm, albeit with a surprisingly uneasy feeling in my stomach. I've never killed someone with witnesses like that. It's always been in the dark, away from prying eyes. But those children… somebody needed to do something. That murder was almost justified.

I'm no vigilante. I kill people because I want to, because they hurt me. Because I have that kind of darkness inside of me. But I don't save people. At least, not on purpose.


	2. Chapter 2: Who Needs Enemies?

I do not own The Elder Scrolls series, and I am making no profit from this work. All characters, plot details, locations, and canon dialogue belong to Bethesda.

* * *

**A** small part of me was expecting Windhelm to be eerily quiet. But it's the same noisy city as it ever was. I walk up to Aventus Aretino's house and open the door, glancing around. I walk up the stairs and Aventus runs out at the sound of my footsteps.

"Well? Grelod the Kind, is she… you know…?" He asks eagerly.

"Yes, child." I respond.

"A-ha! I knew you could do it!" Aventus cheers. "I knew the Dark Brotherhood would save me! Here, just like I promised." He hands me a silver plate. "This should fetch you a nice price. And thank you! Thank you again!" He runs down the stairs and out the door, letting it slam behind him.

I decide not to stay in Windhelm and to travel out to Markarth. It is supposed to be warmer there, with very little snow and plenty of mountains to climb. But there are rumors of an uprising against the Nords. I dislike them and their racist, bull-headed ways, but I wouldn't use that as an excuse to kill them all. There are much better reasons to murder people.

Maybe I'll go back to Whiterun. It was nice enough there, living in the house that was given to Sidri and I by the Jarl. People respect us for our victory over the dragon.

I rent a room down in the Grey Quarter for the night so the Nords don't bother me, and in the morning, I set off on foot for Whiterun. I take the west road to observe the scenery, and smile at the wide beauty of Skyrim. I came here for this, not politics or dragons. But at least I still have these quiet days to occupy me.

Just after passing a small settlement around a lumber mill, a courier jogs over to me.

"Hey, are you Camille Rayne?" He asks.

"Yes…" I reply hesitantly. "You were looking for me?"

"Yeah, got this note." He responds, pulling a small piece of paper from his satchel. "Don't know what it's for."

"Who is it from?" I question suspiciously. The only person who would contact me wouldn't dare do it by courier, and I have no other friends or family who care enough to send anything.

"Not sure who." The courier shrugs. "Creepy fella, black robe. Couldn't see his face. Paid me a pretty sum to get this into your hands, though. Looks like that's it. Got to go." He hands me the paper and starts of toward Windhelm.

I don't like this. I open the folded paper to see a handprint in black ink along with two words written in a careful hand. My breath hitches and my heart leaps into my throat.

_"We know."_

I knew it. I knew they would come for me, and they're going to kill me for taking their contract.

I quickly walk to Whiterun and spend the night in the house. I sit on the bed for hours, startling at the slightest sounds. Eventually, I fall asleep, and am wracked with vicious, terrifying dreams.

* * *

The room spins and blurs as my head aches. I sit up and try to look around. Movement catches my eye and I see a woman sitting casually atop a shelf, her leg dangling over the edge. She is dressed in form-fitting black and red armor with a mask that covers her nose and mouth. Only her ghostly grey eyes are visible.

"Sleep well?" She asks.

My breath freezes in my throat. _The Brotherhood… _"Where am I?" I demand.

"Relax. You're warm, dry… and still very much alive." The woman says in a soothing tone. "That's more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?"

"You know about that?"

"Half of Skyrim knows." She replies with what I assume to be a smirk. "Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around."

I scowl up at her. My initial fear is gone, replaced by annoyance and anger.

"Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing you." The woman clarifies quickly. "It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot. But there is a slight… mm, problem."

I keep my tongue still, unsure why she would tell me all this only to end my life afterward.

"You see, the Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates." She tells me. "Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay."

"You want me to kill someone else?" I question hesitantly. "Who?"

"Well now." The woman chuckles darkly. "Funny you should ask. If you turn around, you'll notice my guests. I've collected them from — well, that's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters."

I turn and see three people, kneeling on the bloodstained floor, each wearing black execution hoods. "You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But… which one?" The woman continues. "Go on. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe… and admire."

I stare at the victims. Two men and a woman. One of them, a Khajiit.

"Am I to take your silence as acceptance?" The woman asks. "Then you know where we stand. Make your kill, and we're square. Repayment of your debt is but a discreet knife thrust away."

I walk over to the first man I see, the human. "I-I can hear you talking out there!" He whimpers. "Please, let me go! I've done nothing to you."

"Who are you?" I ask him, my tone soft.

"My name is Fultheim." He replies shakily. "I'm a soldier. Well, a-a mercenary, really. You know, a sell-sword. But that's all! I'm a nobody, really! So can't you just let me go?"

"Shh, it's all right." I whisper soothingly, placing my hand on his shoulder. "You're a very, very sad man." I draw a small, thin dagger and plunge it into his chest, blood flowing over my hands and shrouding them in warmth.

I walk up the line to the Khajiit and tilt my head. He says something charmingly, but I am too preoccupied with my dizzy feeling to care. I drag my dagger across his neck and marvel at the color of his blood. Such a dark shade…

Only the woman remains. I turn to her and press my lips together. I snatch the black hood from her face and stare into her eyes. "Look at you; you're just an old woman. Why would anyone want to kill you?" I smirk and grimly, the same way the assassin in Cyrodiil had done to me. "Well, I know how deceiving looks can be. You're probably the worst of the lot, you old hag." I take her face in my hand and whisper, "I'm going to enjoy this," before holding out my palms and allowing magefire to engulf her.

I turn back to the hooded woman. "Well, well." She smirks. "Aren't we the overachiever? Three possibilities, three victims. Must have been one of them, right? So why take chances?"

"You told me to kill, and I killed." I reply, staring up at her.

"Indeed. For you, my friend, seem to understand what's truly important." She responded. "When I give an order to spill blood, you follow it. No questions, no remorse."

"So I can leave?" I ask eagerly. I am quite ready to get out of the tiny shack.

"Of course. And you've repaid your debt in full." The woman throws a small key at me. "Here is the key to the shack. But why stop there? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend an invitation for you to join our family. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, you'll find our Sanctuary. When questioned by the Black Door, answer thusly: 'Silence, my Brother' and you'll be welcomed in. I'll see you at home." She smiles as I turn to leave.

I suppose it was bound to happen sometime… ever since I had Atticus killed. Maybe this will be good for me, having an outlet for my murderous intentions.

* * *

***** One month later *****

**It** used to be a nice day. Poor Cicero was having a splendid time! Just him and Mother, roaming the roads of Skyrim at a nice pace. And then it broke. The wagon, the cursed wagon had the awful nerve – _the nerve!_ – to break.

Poor, unlucky Cicero almost thinks we're not meant to go any farther.

_"Aagh!"_ Cicero yells at the wheel as rain begins to fall. "Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! STUCK!" Cicero's hands rest on sweet Mother's ugly wooden box. "Oh, my mother. My poor mother! Unmoving. At rest, but too still!"

Then, oh then! Cicero sees a girl, not far past her thirtieth year, with skin as pale as the snow on the mountains and too-blue eyes. And long, long hair of bitter black. She evokes a feeling, such a strange, twisted thing, inside Cicero. Makes me _want _instead of know.

"Problems?" She speaks! Oh, dear Night Mother, you _do_ love Cicero! The girl is going to help us and we're going to leave from this rain and this road!

"Poor Cicero is stuck!" He cries, pointing down to the stupid wagon wheel. "Can't you see?"

The girl only stares at Cicero blankly. Stares, no, _glares_ at poor Cicero!

"I was transporting my dear, sweet mother." Cicero explains. "Well, not her. Her corpse! She quite dead." Cicero laughs and grins, and then the pretty thing smiles, but she looks as if she's trying very hard not to. "I'm taking Mother to a new home. A new crypt. But_ aagh!_ Wagon wheel!_ Damnedest_ wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?"

"How disappointing." She says. So _cold_! Colder than the icy sea, that's a certainty!

"Oh! But surely the kindly stranger can help!" Cicero smiles sickly sweet at the pretty girl. "Go to the farm – the Loreius farm! Talk to Loreius; he has tools! He can help me! But he won't, he refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!"

The girl narrows her eyes. "I'll see what I can do." She says before walking away. Such lovely legs. So lean, so slender. She has no light in her eyes. Only a darkness Cicero knows well. It's so _beautiful_. A Breton by her bearing, a teeny tiny Breton. Breton blood is always the hardest to scrub out of Cicero's motley...

* * *

**Just** a short while ago, I made my way to the Dark Brotherhood's Sanctuary in Falkreath Hold. The woman from the shack, Astrid, welcomed me and introduced me to the rest of my Family. I never thought I would belong anywhere, not after what happened to my husband. But the Brotherhood has accepted me into their fold, and I feel their love stronger than any love I've had.

And now I'm here, standing in front of a muddy farm, trying to assist a jester as he transports a corpse. If I wasn't in such a good mood today, I think I may have killed him.

The farm in question seems to have thriving crops. I see a man and a woman working, the former of which I assume to be Loreius. I approach him and he looks up. "Oh, for the love of Mara. What now?" He snaps at me.

"That… man… on the road. He really needs your help with his wagon." I say, looking back at the jester as he dances around the cart.

"That Cicero feller? Hmph. Tell me something I don't know," Loreius shakes his head. "Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?"

"Good man, I'm sure he'll pay you." I remark.

"Pay me?" Loreius repeats. "You think this is about money? Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head! A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain't been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years."

"He is… different, but I'm sure he means well." I continue.

"He's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother, my eye." The farmer scoffs. "He could have anything in there! War contraband, weapons, skooma. Ain't no way I'm gettin' involved in any of that."

I'm starting to lose my patience. If this isn't resolved soon, I may have to kill someone. "He's just a stranger who needs assistance. Please," I insist, "do the right thing."

"And just who in Mara's name are you anyway, hmm?" Loreius demands. "Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a… a… a fool!"

"You know you should help him." I press.

"Look, I… I…" Finally, Loreius sighs and relents. "You're right, you're right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? Look, um… thanks for your help. And I'm sorry for my un-neighborly reaction. If you see Cicero, you be sure to tell him I'll be down to help soon."

* * *

**The** rain is stopping. Sunshine is coming, but it doesn't feel like it should to poor, lonely Cicero. It's piercing and blinding and harsh. Oh, poor Mother. She must be so hot in that box… "My dear Mother." Cicero mutters. "Her new home seems so very far away…"

"Jester."

The voice so strange so sweet so sickening is back! Dear Cicero could listen to it for hours and hours...

"The farmer is coming. He's going to fix your wagon." She says, blinking those cold eyes at Cicero.

Oh, how joyful this makes Cicero! But… not that the wagon is fixed. That she helped us at all… "Oh, stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic!" She stands still like a statue and glares. "But more! Even more! My mother thanks you."

"You are welcome." She turns away and walks down the road.

She leaves. And without even a smile for poor Cicero! Such a stubborn girl... I almost want to chase her and see what color her blood is after all.

* * *

**The** jester seems somewhat sad when I leave, with a tiny little pout on his face. His eyes are such a shade of amber… so hauntingly sad. He seems a bit… strange, but I find him rather endearing. In an odd, childlike, prone-to-drastic-mood-swings kind of way. It's almost sad to leave him like this…

The sound in the wind is back again. This time, it's clearer, and it sounds like a deep whispering. I close my eyes to try to hear it better, but it still doesn't make any sense.


	3. Chapter 3: Home Sweet Home?

The Elder Scrolls Series doesn't belong to me, yadda yadda, Bethesda, please don't sue me.

* * *

I arrive back in the Sanctuary after about a week of traveling. I am tired from all this foolish business with the Graybeards and the Blades and am quite happy to be home, where things are less complicated.

Astrid isn't standing in her usual place by the map, and I hear noises from the main room.

"But the Night Mother is mother to all!" Cries a shrill voice. "It is _her_ voice we follow! _Her_ will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely… punishment?"

I enter the room hesitantly to see my Family gathered around a familiar little jester. Transporting his mother, he claimed… what is in that box?

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished'." Growls the wolf.

"Oh, be quiet, you great lumbering lapdog." The old mage scowls. "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil." He turns toward the fool. "Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

"Oh, what a _kind_ and _wise_ wizard you are!" The fool grins widely and claps his hands like a child. "Sure to earn our Lady's favor."

"You and the Night Mother are certainly welcome here, Cicero." Astrid declares cordially. "And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood… husband?" She adds, glaring at the wolf subtly.

He huffs and walks away.

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" The fool cheers, starting to do a short little dance. "Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!"

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary." Astrid states pointedly. "My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss." Cicero nods emphatically.

I retreat back into the map room and wait for Astrid to return. She notices me and smiles. "Ah, there you are. I was done talking to that muttering fool anyway. We have business to discuss."

"You have a contact for me?"

"I do indeed." She replies. "You must go to the city of Markarth and speak to the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in the Hag's Cure when the shop is open. The girl's been running her mouth – wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."

_Well, at least she's finally letting me prove myself. _"Anything else?"

"Just do whatever the contact wishes." Astrid answers. "Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are."

With that, she turns away and walks back to her normal place by the wall.

"Astrid?" I lower the hood of my cloak.

"You have a question?"

"This jester…"

"I know. I don't like his presence here any more than you do, but it's necessary right now." Astrid says.

"I've spoken with him once, in Whiterun Hold." I explain. "His wagon broke, and he asked me to help him convince a farmer to fix it. He did pay me."

"Interesting." Astrid muses. "Then he'll trust you more than any of us. You should speak to him as soon as you can. He might respond better to you than he would to us." She continues. "Just go and see if you can get anything out of him. See what he wants."

"Very well." I walk toward the fool and his face stretches into a grin I didn't even know could fit. "You! Cicero never forgets a face!" He flings his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly. Mad indeed, but if I can stomach it, he may prove useful. "Oh, how wonderful to see you're one of the Family!"

"You're the jester from the road." I note. "Transporting his mother."

"Oh, I am! I was! But not just _my_ mother! _Our_ mother, hmm? The Night Mother!" He says, never losing his smile. "Oh, yes! And you helped me! You helped Cicero! You talked to Loreius, got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget!"

When I say nothing, he continues. "Ooh, so silent, so menacing." He says lowly. "A true assassin of the Old Ways. Cicero likes you. Oh, Cicero likes you indeed…" He trails off, staring at me diligently. He seems to be studying me for something, but I know not what.

"Why are you staring at me?" I ask, my voice taking an icy tone.

"Oh, Cicero was just thinking, dear Sister." He says quickly. "Thinking of… someone."

After looking him over, I scowl. "You're an Imperial. What brings you to Skyrim?"

"Cicero could ask the same of you, dear Sister. A Breton, here in the icy cold?" He grins again, sickly sweet. "The Night Mother's crypt in Bravil was… desecrated. The Imperial Province is ravaged by strife. Nowhere there is safe, at present." His eyes wander about the floor, carrying a surprisingly haunted look. "So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here! This is the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, you see. Such was my… honor. As Keeper."

Astrid can hear every word we say, stalking about behind me, so I don't think I need to memorize his answers. "So what are the duties of your role?" I inquire, even though I don't really care.

He grins. "Oh, Cicero takes care of our Lady's body. Oils it, preserves it, keeps it safe. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin." He makes a face. "Only the best get _my_ job." He winks.

"I'm sure." I respond, inwardly shuddering at the thought. "Tell me about yourself, Brother."

"Me?" His cheeks flush again and he shuffles his feet, as if he's never been asked about himself before. "Oh, Cicero is just Keeper. I… keep!" He giggles. "I take care of our matron, you see. The Night Mother. I keep her clean, and protected, and happy…" he trails off as if thinking about something unpleasant. Then his eyes return to me with a familiarly haunting darkness and he adds, "But I am not the Listener. Oh, no! There is no Listener. Not yet! But some day, some day, _some day,_ I pray that one will come to hear her say… the words." He finishes in a hushed tone, with a hint of that laughter that never seems to leave him.

"So who _is_ the Night Mother?"

He gasps. "_What?_ Who is the Night Mother?" Cicero repeats incredulously. His face softens into a smile and he begins to laugh. "Oh-ho-ho! Oh, you jest! You jest with gullible Cicero! Dear Sister, you almost had me there." He becomes serious once more. "You of course know that the Night Mother is our Unholy Matron. The undying spirit of a great woman who birthed the children of Sithis. And then killed them. In his honor!" He laughs madly.

"Tell me your thoughts on Sithis." I continue.

"Hmm…" He hums thoughtfully, his golden eyes wandering before eventually settling on mine. A dark smile creeps across his face and he takes a deep breath. "That's like telling you about the cold of space, or the terror of midnight. Sithis is all those things. He is… the Void." He finishes in a chilling whisper.

"Well. I have never heard it put quite like that before." I remark calmly, even though his low growl stirs memories long since thrown aside.

"Well, Cicero knows quite a bit about Sithis and the Night Mother, as Keeper." He says with a humble glance down at his shoes.

"Yes, I would imagine so." He looks back up at me and I hold out my hand. "I'm Camille, by the way. We were never properly introduced."

"Ah, Camille." He grins and shakes my hand lightly. "The Fool of Hearts is pleased to make you acquaintance." He gives me a little bow.

_Hearts? Of all the suits, that's the one he chose…._ "This has been fascinating, dear Brother, but I have some contracts to turn in."

His smile shrinks a bit, but then it springs right back again. "Until next time, dear Sister." He replies, turning back to the box and beginning to open it up.

* * *

**Cicero** watches the prettiest of all sisters walk away. She has such grace, like an oh-so-deadly dancer. Watching her kill… must be like watching an artist at work. _She_ deserves to lead us, oh yes she does. Oh, please let me have more talks with her Mother! I want to hear her voice almost as much as I want to hear yours… so sweet it could almost melt the ice in her eyes.

Cicero grins and dances around for dearest Mother. "Don't worry! Cicero still adores you more than anyone!"

* * *

**"Well** done, well done." Nazir congratulates me. "You actually finished all of them. I'm impressed."

"You didn't think I could do it, did you?" I raise a speculative eyebrow.

"No, no. I knew you could. It was just a matter of if you would." He returns smartly.

I laugh sarcastically and then leave to see Babette. She's sitting in her usual place by the alchemy bench, and so I sit down on the table behind her and engage in a casual conversation.

"So, what do you think about Cicero and the Night Mother?" I inquire.

She sighs. "Two hundred years ago, I would have lain down my life for the Unholy Matron. But that age has long since passed. Astrid is my matron now." She says. "But the jester… I haven't spoken to him beyond the few moments after he came inside. He seems… unstable."

"He's more than he appears." I remark, slowly kicking my feet back and forth. "But I don't quite know what I think of him yet."

"Well, maybe when you get back from your contract, you can speak with him more." Babette suggests, mixing some crushed Nightshade with alcohol.

"I'd like to talk more now, but I have to leave within the hour." I complain. "I love killing people, but I swear, if I ever got a day to myself, half of Skyrim would fall off the world!"

Babette laughs, one of the few times when she sounds truly childlike. "Well, have fun. It isn't worth it if you don't enjoy it."

Standing up tiredly, I walk away down the stairs to the main room. Without saying goodbye, I ready myself for another long journey.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I'm a little wary about writing Cicero from a first-person perspective. It's pretty difficult and I'm not sure how in-character he is here. Feedback of any sort (but especially in regards to that) would be greatly appreciated and will definitely help me grow as an author. So please _please_ _PLEASE_ post a quick review. I can handle whatever you throw at me!

- Gairi


	4. Chapter 4: Sad Day, Sad World

It takes a few days to get to Markarth, with stops in Rorikstead and Karthwasten. The locals aren't much to talk about, but I'm glad to see a few more Bretons around. When I enter the city, I remember Astrid telling me that Muiri is supposed to be in the Hag's Cure, the local apothecary. I walk around Markarth for an abnormally long while as I try to find it. When I finally approach the right store, I open the door to see an old woman in black robes and a younger one mixing ingredients with a mortar and pestle.

I approach the younger woman and she frowns. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She asks with a hint of nervousness in her tone.

"The Dark Brotherhood has come, Muiri." I declare softly.

"The Dark Brotherh… Oh. Oh!" She gasps and quickly ushers me into the back room. "My goodness, you're really here!"

I give a twitchy smirk. "You were expecting the Thieves Guild?"

"N-no." She stammers. "The Black Sacrament… it actually worked?"

"Obviously. What do you need from us?"

"What I need?" She repeats. "What I need is for Alain Dufont to die! I want him to be hunted down and murdered like the dog he is!"

This continues for a while. She talks and talks… and _talks_. I almost regret asking if there was anything else, but at least I get to kill two people now. After more rambling about blood and misery being wrought upon people who called her mean names, she gives me two vials of poison and tells me that she had be planning to do it herself for a while.

By the looks of her, I think contacting us was the right idea.

I pick up the poisons and stow them in my bag before I walk out of the city and flag down the carriage, paying fifty Septims for passage to Windhelm. It's a small price compared to what I'll get for this contract… I hope.

When I arrive in Windhelm, things seem more noisy than usual. I approach the house of the Shatter-Shields and find it locked. They must be out. I walk about Windhelm for a while, perusing the wares of the merchants and attempting to avoid conversation with the locals.

I see Nilsine Shatter-Shield in the market, and I know my time wandering is at its end. She doesn't seem to have noticed me, so I slink into the nearest shadow and trail the young woman slowly. She meanders through the streets, never talking to anyone. She gets back to her house, and I hope that the rest of her family isn't home as I watch her walk inside. She locks the door on her way in.

That's unfortunate. Now we have to do things the hard way.

After several broken lockpicks, I growl lowly and melt the lock with magic. A less-than-elegant manner of entry, but what's done is done.

I glance around the dark house, and I can hear footsteps above my head. The basket of flowers that Nilsine was carrying sits on the table. I walk upstairs slowly and peek around the top of the stairs. Nilsine is standing by the fire. It looks like she's making herself a glass of mead.

Perfect! She even has her back turned.

I step into the room and ask if I'm in the right house.

"Who are you?" She questions. "What do you want?"

"You are Nilsine, yes? I was sent to find you." I state evenly. "One of your friends wanted to give you a message."

"Who? What is it?" She asks, still wary of me. "Wait… how did you even get in here? I locked the door…"

"Yes—and you'll need a new lock. I tend to get a little… mmm… impatient." I summon flames to my hand and throw them at her before she can react. The force propels her halfway across the room and she crashes into a shelf.

I wince. "That'll leave a mark. Shame, too. That shelf was _lovely_."

After making sure the girl's breathed her last, I extinguish the flames and walk out of the house. Just one more to go.

I've moved on to the next target on my list, Alain Dufont. I can see the Dwarven ruin atop a mountain in the distance, and it looks like quite a climb. Luckily for me, I love to climb mountains. One hand in front of the other, clutching at corners stable enough to hold me, and all I see is the sky above, gray and bleak. It may not seem relaxing, but this is why I came to Skyrim. No assassins, no politics, no dragons. Just me and the mountain.

Think of what could I have been doing without all those nuisances!

Skyrim would be much nicer without the civil war. But if the war wasn't raging, the Empire wouldn't have set up that ambush to capture Ulfric Stormcloak, and I wouldn't have been caught in the crossfire. So then I wouldn't have even been at Helgen, and my head wouldn't have been in the path of that axe.

Ach, this is too confusing. Things are the way they are, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I've just reached a nice flat part in the mountain, so I pull myself up and look around. The ruin is in front of me and I can see the outlines of people walking around it. I draw my bow and aim through the snowfall. I release the arrow, but none of the figure fall. Sidri is far better than me with a bow. I creep a bit closer. The bandits are on edge now, waiting for another arrow. One stands by where the arrow landed, and the other searches around for me.

I draw back the string once more. The wind is picking up, so I aim a bit left of where I was aiming before. I fire, and this time one of the bandits goes down. The other alerts his comrades, and I see my short relationship with this bow is coming to a close. I press myself to the face of the rocks and follow them over toward the ruin, my dagger drawn. The bandits don't seem to have noticed me yet. One makes the mistake of walking away from his fellows; I cut his throat almost instantly and leave his body in the snow. I begin walking up the steps toward the ruin, but one of the bandits sees me. I rise from my crouch and slash at her as the other readies his bow.

This will require some careful timing on my part. The one with the sword isn't my main concern. The archer is just as dangerous, if not more. I dodge a swipe of the woman's blade and jump backwards toward the archer. He fires an arrow at me, which very narrowly misses. It gives me the perfect window to attack, and I manage to drive my dagger into his shoulder. He falls to the ground, taking me with him. I pull the dagger from his shoulder and roll across the floor to escape the other bandit's blade. I successfully evade it and kick her in the back of the knee, causing her to fall. I kill them both quickly and then take a moment to reclaim my breath, the snowy air filling my lungs and cooling me down.

Once I'm inside the ruin, I notice a bandit sleeping on a makeshift blanket of furs. I kill him before he can make a sound. I come to a trap that's spitting fire directly in my path, but I'm too impatient to take the alternate route, so I duck under it while holding a Ward spell around myself.

With some difficulty, I pick the lock on the gate in front of me and it opens to reveal a large room with three men inside of it. There's a pool of oil on the floor—a careless mistake I've seen in many places. I summon mire flames. By the time they notice the spell, it's far too late, and the pool of oil ignites in a burst of hot fire.

It's clear from the fading screams that I've managed to kill all three of the bandits. I look around at my handiwork before turning back, casting another Ward as I duck through the fire trap again. I've done what was asked of me. Unfortunately, now I have to infiltrate a Thalmor party at their Embassy. I don't have enough time to return to Muiri, let alone to tell Astrid that I've completed the contract.

So, up to Solitude I go.

* * *

**Cicero **is having such a sad day. It's becoming so very lonely here, with no one to talk to. Nobody likes poor Cicero. The stupid sheepdog of Astrid has been hounding Cicero all the time… _hounding. He he he he_.

The un-child has been telling Cicero a little about Camille. Camille the Dragonborn! One of the old heroes, the one who'll save the world from dragons. Camille can Shout in that sweet voice of hers, yes she can. She can make ice, or fire, or wind, just from her voice! And she can kill people by yelling at them! How handy for a deadly sweet assassin like her!

While Cicero is thinking of Camille… when is she coming back, Mother? I wish it was soon. Cicero wants _ever _so badly to see her again. Her and her pretty hair, and her pretty eyes, and her sweet, sweet voice. But Cicero still longs to hear _your_ voice, Mother. More than anyone else's… even if that anyone else is dear Camille. Oh, Cicero wonders if she follows the Old Ways like I do. She seems to, with her deadly grace, and her sweet silence. Just like an assassin of old…

Oh, but there's nothing to _do _here! Nothing but sit and wait. Wait for what? Well, for Mother to speak, of course! But also for Astrid to see that she can't possibly be better than Mother, for the sheepdog to stop being so stubborn and mean, for the un-child to be un-busy, and for Camille to come back. _Especially _for Camille to come back. Cicero misses her now, after thinking of her for a while. Her and her eyes and hair and voice…

Cicero wishes _you_ would speak, Mother! Tell Cicero about Camille! Tell Cicero she's killing people in wonderful ways. Tell Cicero you're keeping Camille warm and happy and safe, just as Cicero keeps you. Is she, Mother? Is she warm and happy and safe? Is she having fun? Is she thinking of us, just as we're thinking of her? Is she all right, Mother? She's been gone very long, much too long. Cicero is… _worrying_. Or is it wondering?

_Definitely_ wondering. Cicero worries only for Mother and for a Listener, may Sithis grant us one.

A sound comes from the entryway. Is it her? Is it Camille, home at last? Oh, I _must _see!


End file.
